These Days
by tensionandthrill
Summary: When Sam bumps into Mercedes out in LA two years after their breakup, it leaves him wondering. Are they really over or has fate presented yet another chance for them?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Sometimes I listen to 'These Days' by Rascal Flatts and then I write things.

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Hers is the last voice he expects to hear as he makes his way out of the crowded LA Starbucks. It registers with his heart, making it skip a beat, before his brain is able to fully process what's happening. It's been two years since he'd heard it last, but he'd know it anywhere. He turns, and she's there, even more beautiful than he remembers, smiling that smile that's forever ingrained into his memories and it feels like the dreams he's been trying to stop having since he let her walk away.

He still remembers that last day—that terrible moment he'd had to let her go. They had been headed in opposite directions and saying a swift—albeit painful—goodbye had seemed like the survivable option in the stead of long, tortured months pining after one another. It was meant to set them free, but it didn't take him too long into his senior year to figure out he was anything but.

He kept it to himself, however, watching her fulfill her dreams from afar—afraid to hold her back. He'd quietly resolved he'd go after her as soon as he could, and he had. The very next day after graduation he'd climbed into his truck and followed his heart, only to have it shattered into pieces when he got there.

"She's gone, dude," Puck had told him, a sympathetic expression on his face, when they got together for lunch in LA the day Sam had arrived. He'd never forget those words—or Puck's revelation that she'd gone off to London with the guitarist of a British indie band she'd been dating for a few months.

He's spent every day since convincing himself he was fine without her. He almost believed it, too—filling his hours with activity and people to keep himself busy. He'd made a life for himself living with Puck in the new city, working at a local graphic design company. At the time, he'd told himself it felt like moving on, but seeing her face again right then, he knows he's the furthest thing from it.

Part of him had always been waiting on this moment. Not matter what he'd done or who he'd found himself involved with, he'd always been holding out, hoping she'd cross his path again.

His body almost lurches like a magnet whose polar opposite has just moved within reach. He wants to reach out, to tell her he's missed her, and thought of her every single day, but it's been two years. They'd said goodbye. They weren't that couple anymore, even if his heart still hadn't adjusted to that fact. He'd only freak her out.

So he suppresses his emotions—tamps down the urge to reach out and hold her, to kiss her lips, and make up for every moment they've been apart—ignoring the way his heart squeezes with the effort. He resolves to be content with the opportunity to just be in her presence again for the moment, stuffing his hands into his pockets to restrain them as he drinks in the sight of her. He swallows thickly taking in her large doe eyes, her full lips, and has to struggle to keep his eyes from raking over the rest of her form.

She apparently doesn't have the same qualms as she laughs and wraps her arms around him. "It's so good to see you, Sammy!" she says and he can hear the smile in her voice as her hands rub his shoulder blades. "What are you doing here?"

"I moved out here a year ago," Sam says. "Puck said you'd already gone."

He lets the implication of his words linger between them and doesn't miss the way her arms tighten around him. She sounds as longing as he feels when she tells him she's missed him, sighing against his shoulder. He valiantly suppresses a shudder as he feels her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The familiarity threatens to overwhelm him as they stay connected to each other longer than strictly necessary for an embrace between friends.

He breathes her in and the familiar scent of her perfume, the one that had always drove him crazy, brings the sting of tears to his eyes. He can't even stop the yearning gaze he gives her as they pull apart, and smiles crookedly when he sees it reflected in her eyes.

The hope is burgeoning in his heart before he can stop it. He's thinking of bright summer days, hot summer nights, and imagining what it'd be like to have them again.

There's so much he wants to say, but the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling her name puts those thoughts on hold, pulling them both back to reality.

"Mercedes?" the voice calls again, and then the person emerges from the crowd. Mercedes turns with a bright smile toward the man who is now making his way towards them and Sam can feel his heart sinking along with the hope he'd felt just moments before. The setting may have been different, but they'd been here before.

"Where'd you go, babe?" the man asks, running a hand through his dark curls. Sam registers the man's British accent and his fears are confirmed. He eyes Sam for a brief second before turning to Mercedes, taking in her smile with one of his own, and hands her the cup of coffee in his hand. "Your jitter juice, milady," he says making Mercedes giggle.

Sam watches, resisting the urge to walk away, as the man rubs a hand down Mercedes' back. Instead, he clears his throat, making the pair turn their attention to him.

"Oh," Mercedes says, giggling nervously. "Callum, this is Sam. He's an old friend from high school," she says, and Sam's jaw tightens at his new title. They both knew he'd been way more. Mercedes avoids the intense stare he sends her way.

"Sam, this is Callum...my boyfriend." Her hesitation is brief, but Sam doesn't miss it. She can't keep her gaze on him, and bites her lip, looking away from him after their eyes lock for a quick moment. He doesn't have time to dwell on it, though, as Callum extends a hand, smiling and telling him it was nice to meet an old friend of Mercy's.

Callum seemingly has no idea who he is, and Sam doesn't know how to take the fact that she'd apparently never talked about him. There was a whole spectrum of possible connotations and he couldn't gauge where she stood.

They stand there awkwardly for a few more seconds, Sam staring at Mercedes, knowing their brief reunion is coming to an end. He's not ready to say goodbye again, but he could sense it coming. He wants to ask her the million questions running through his mind, but he knows this moment isn't the time.

Their eyes lock again for a tense moment before Callum suggests they should leave. She lets him pull her away and Sam sighs, lowering his gaze from her retreating form to the ground, wondering why he still wasn't used to watching her walk away.

He's surprised to find her in front of him when he lifts his eyes again. She squeezes his hand briefly, offering him a small smile, and then she's headed on her way. He stares after her, confused, only belatedly taking note of what she's slipped into his hand. He turns the small business card in his hand, with her cellphone number scrawled on the back.

She isn't ready to say goodbye, either. Maybe it was about time old friends were reacquainted.

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**A/N**: Should there be more of this? I could keep listening to Rascal Flatts and make it so. Y'all should **REVIEW** and let me know lol.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hurrying up and posting before Isaac takes my internet away. Please forgive any errors.

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His is the last face she expects to see as she and Callum wait in line. She has a meeting with her label this morning to show them what she's been working on, and she's not sure there are enough coffee beans in the world to dedicate to the task of keeping her eyes open. She's cranky, completely jet-lagged from their flight in the night before, and just needs to get some java into her system if productivity is even going to be on the menu today.

She's wide awake, however, the moment she sets her sights on Sam. She almost thinks he's a product of her sleep deprivation. Her heart squeezes in her chest and she automatically brings a hand up to cover the spot as she gasps. She's moving before she can really think, having completely tuned out Callum and his light teasing about her being addicted to her bean juice.

All she can see is Sam, moving toward the door, mere seconds from disappearing out of her life again, and the only thing she knows is she can't let it happen. His name spills out of her mouth in a feverish call. He turns around and it feels like the dreams she's been trying to stop having since she let him walk away.

She still remembers that last day—the awful mess of tears they'd been, trying to convince one another that this was for the best. This would set them free, and this stifling pain they felt was just a temporary side-effect of their goodbye. It didn't take her too long, however, to figure out she was anything but free.

She kept it to herself, though. They'd broken up and he seemed to be moving on just fine, if his silence was anything to go by. She'd even heard from Tina that he'd been dating around a bit. The idea that he'd show up one day to sweep her off her feet again was just a silly dream. It wasn't healthy to stay fixated on something that was clearly in the past.

Callum popped up soon after with his band, The Knight's Watch, in the small studio where she did most of her work and made his interest in her plain—flirting with her every chance he got, dedicating a good amount of his time to making her laugh. It was clear he liked her and she liked having him around, as her friend.

At first, she keeps him at arm's length. She isn't over Sam and she wants to focus on building her career. He's persistent, however. They become good friends—her first real friend in LA, besides Puck—and explore the city that is new to both of them together. Breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. Concerts, karaoke, and bowling. Random trips to the zoo. Crazy long sessions at the studio that dissolve into stupid hijinks. Callum is there for all of it, content to just be the friend she needs.

She's ecstatic when Callum gets her a meeting with another indie label in London, one where The Knights' Watch got their start. She side-eyes him at the revelation that he's been sneaking over her demos, but is immensely grateful for the opportunity at a deal to record her own music and not just background on other peoples' work.

She wants to share it with Sam so badly. She is finally taking that next step, the one he believed she'd get to all along, and no matter how indebted she feels to Callum, she can't help but want Sam by her side.

It's even worse when Sam's 'Mercedes Inferno' video is brought up in the meeting—the deal maker. They'd got to see what an all-around package she was and immediately wanted to work with her. Her thoughts immediately go back to the day Sam had shown her what he'd done—the words he'd said to her. "I believe in you and what you could become." It was finally happening.

She finds out from Tina that he's taken off, however—something about beginning the next chapter of his life, and that clearly didn't involve her. So, she goes on, convincing herself that she's fine without him. Her hours are filled with work and exploring the city with Callum—finally giving in to his request for a date. Maybe she didn't love him like she did Sam, but he was good to her, made her feel loved and less alone. Sam was long gone. Why shouldn't she give herself a shot at happiness?

At the time, it feels a lot like moving on, but seeing Sam's face again in the crowded coffee shop, she isn't so sure of that anymore.

Part of her had always been waiting on this moment. Even as she told herself she was over him, even as she'd accepted Callum's request that she be his girlfriend—she'd always wondered if, _hoped_, they'd cross paths again.

A short burst of disbelieving laughter at his presence shoots out of her. She doesn't think as she lurches forward, attaching herself to him like she's imagined for nearly two years and the way they still fit together brings the sting of tears to her eyes. All she can think about is how good it is to finally see him again, to be in his arms again.

"It's so good to see you, Sammy!" she says and she's aware of the almost relieved timbre of her voice. She can't keep the smile off her face as the knowledge that he's there, in her arms, runs through her mind. She couldn't believe it.

"What are you doing here?" she says, rubbing his shoulder blades, unable to detach herself from him or stop her hands from touching him.

"I moved out here a year ago," he says. "Puck said you'd already gone."

Mercedes reels, doing the math in her head. A year ago—that would have been right after his graduation. Puck said she'd _already_ gone. The next chapter of his life had been Los Angeles. He'd come for her, and she'd already left.

Her arms tighten around him involuntarily as her heart reacts to this revelation. "I've missed you," she sighs, breathing him in and reflexively running her fingers through the hair at his nape. The familiarity of the act, even after two years, threatens to overwhelm her as they stay locked together in their embrace way longer than strictly necessary.

They pull apart a moment later and she can't even help the longing in her gaze as she takes in the sight of him. He's even more gorgeous than she remembers, smiling that crooked smile that's forever ingrained into her memory. Her mind immediately flips through all the times she's seen it before. She's thinking about bright summer days and hot summer nights before she can stop herself—imagining what it'd be like to have them again.

There's so much she wants to say, but the sound of Callum's voice calling out her name startles her back to reality. She immediately plasters a bright smile on her face as she turns to her boyfriend, feeling her heart sinking as he moves closer to them—pushing the thoughts she'd been having just moments before away. The setting may have been different, but the déjà vu of this moment isn't lost on her.

She can't even look at Sam as she awkwardly makes the introduction, rolling her eyes internally at calling him an old friend. The intense stare he sends her way is all too familiar, and she avoids it for all she's worth, trying to breathe through the exchange.

Calling Callum her boyfriend sticks slightly in her throat, especially now being back in Sam's presence, but she pushes through. She feels silly. They're not a couple anymore—even if her heart still hadn't adjusted to that fact. Their gazes lock for a brief second and even still she swears he can see everything she's thinking. He's always been able to read her perfectly. She looks away again quickly, biting her lip nervously as Callum speaks to him.

The silence is awkward for a moment. She has so many thoughts running through her mind—things she wants to speak to him about—but , she knows this isn't the time.

Their eyes lock again as Callum announces that they have to leave. They have to head to the label. She lets Callum pull her away, watching Sam, and wondering why she still wasn't used to the shattered state her heart had been in for nearly two years.

It manages to break even more as she watches Sam sigh and hang his head. She pulls away from Callum unthinkingly, the only thought running through her mind is that she's not ready for the goodbye—not so soon after he'd just walked back into her life.

She quickly scrawls her new cell phone number on the back of the card and presses it into his hand, hoping there'd be time to say everything soon.

It was about time old friends were reacquainted.

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**A/N:** The response was awesome yesterday. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and alerted. I responded to everyone that I could. I really appreciate it! Please keep them coming if y'all want to see more. It's great motivation, so I hope to hear from you. :) PS. You don't care, but I listened to Heart Attack by Trey Songz like the entire time I was writing this. Someone needs to come take the single away from me now.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm sure she didn't give you the card so you could stare at it," Puck says. His tone is a tinge exasperated as he walks through the living room to find his friend still sitting in the same position, turning the card over in his fingers, hours after he'd left him there. "Stop being such a pussy."

Sam wants to glare, but he knows his friend is right. He knows he looks a downright fool staring at the small business card like it held some sort of answer, running his fingers over the familiar handwriting, typing the number into his phone and creating a new contact tab—doing everything _but_ actually calling the number.

He's looked at it so many times in the two days he's had it, repeated the numbers in his head, he could recite them in his sleep. The only thing he can't seem to bring himself to do is make the call.

"Just pick up the phone. Start with hello and go from there," Puck coaches, but it isn't so simple for Sam. He's been imagining this moment in about a hundred different ways for the last year, but this would be real and that was a whole different ball game. The conversation wouldn't just be a conversation—not for him.

As long as they hadn't spoken, he could always imagine that more lay in store for them—that their happy ending was still possible. The thought of it alone had kept his sadness at bay that last year at McKinley, and stopped him from completely buckling when he'd finally made his way to LA only to find he was too late.

Calling her now, speaking to her, and possibly spending time with her again—that would be a reality check, putting an end to all what-ifs. As awesome as that would be for his peace of mind, he wasn't sure he was ready for it.

On the one hand, calling her could be opening the door to a new chapter for them. On the other, it could be closing their book entirely. The way he felt about her now, he didn't know if he could take it.

He realized how loony he sounded—holding on to a girl that had been out of his life for years—but, in some ways, he always felt like they belonged to one another. No matter what was going on, who he was with, or where he found himself, he always came right back to her. There was always that tether.

Sam is so lost in his thoughts, he doesn't even notice when Puck takes a seat next to him. He idly feels his friend reach for his phone and relinquishes the object. By the time he comes to his senses, Puck simply says, "It's ringing," before leaving the room and it's too late to stop the ball from rolling.

Sam is sure he's dying as a bubble of panic pushes his heart into his throat. He's sure it's going to beat right out of him as it pounds harder and harder with every passing second. He's sure he's having a heart attack, but what could he do? He had to stay on the line.

If he hung up, she'd still see the number and she'd think he was weird. Weird isn't exactly the impression he's going for after two years.

If he stayed on the line, and she picked up, he'd die. Even if she didn't pick up, he'd have to leave a message and speaking was a major problem. Speaking meant being intelligible. Speaking meant not rambling on like a dork. Speaking meant physically restraining himself from telling her to leave her boyfriend and mother his children.

He wasn't ready.

"I'm not ready," he murmurs in a panic to a long gone Puck. It seems neither Puck nor the gods care about his level of preparedness because she picks up on the very next ring, her voice hesitant and slightly breathless when she says, "Hello?"

"Hey," Sam says awkwardly immediately asking her if she's alright after that, even though he's certain _he's_ the one dying.

She waives him off the subject with a vague reply and there are a few more moments of awkward silence before Sam says, "We meet again," and immediately wants to throw himself into a vat of toxic waste. At a time like this, he's quoting Darth Vader. He might as well have started with, "Hello. I'm a giant ball of awkward. How are you?"

His blush feels warm enough to melt his face when she laughs, but the sound is music to his ears. He drops his head onto the back of the couch and closes his eyes as it washes over him. He'd missed hearing it, even if it'd mostly been directed at him and whatever dorky thing he'd been doing when they were together. It instantly brings him back, and he has to pull himself out of his thoughts to focus on her words as she speaks.

"At last," Mercedes says, completing his quote, amidst more giggles and his heart thuds wildly. She is perfect.

"I love you" is the next thing he wants to say, but he figures that will run the conversation into the ground in a hurry so he goes with safer territory. "I almost can't believe I'm talking to you," he says quietly. "How've you been?"

He listens, rapt as she gives him a brief rundown of the last two years, pleased to find out she'll be in Los Angeles for the next few months. His heart warms at the excitement in her voice as she talks about her singing career. He can almost feel the smile on her face across the line and it makes him smile. He can feel his heart reacting, expanding with pride and love.

He tells her about himself, the projects he's working on, and life with Puck—which is just a treasure trove of stories. Before long, they're trading old memories about their friends, reliving their Glee club days—making fun of Mr. Schuester's obsession with vests, revisiting Brittany's greatest moments. Sam is nearly crying with laughter by the time Mercedes gets into her Santana impression.

He's surprised at how easy it is to slip back into old patterns with her—the jokes, the bantering. The only thing he can think about is how right this feels, and he wonders how he ever managed to convince himself he could do without it.

He's powerless to stop the words that come out of his mouth next, or the wistful tone in which he delivers them. "I've missed you so much these last two years, Cede."

Her giggles trail off and she's silent for a moment. Sam drops his head into his open palm. He was just telling the truth, what he felt in his heart, but he'd overstepped—trampled the stable ground they'd found—and now she was probably freaked out.

The silence stretches a bit longer, and he's just about to apologize—attempt to take it back somehow—when she responds with a quiet, "Me, too. I've missed you, too." The emotional timbre of her voice isn't lost on him, and he wants to say more, but he figures he's pushed enough for one night.

They stay silent for a moment and Sam's lost in thought as he listens to her soft breathing on the other end. "I want to see you," he finally says and smiles when she agrees with a quiet, "I want to see you, too."

It's dangerous, he knows it. She has a boyfriend and letting himself get pulled in like this again could potentially break him, but her voice and presence work like a salve on his heart. After two years of aching, he can't bring himself to care.

He's smiling when he hangs up, their plans to see each other already set in place. He hadn't felt this hopeful in years. He has a strong urge to thank Puck for the push…but it quickly dwindles when his friend walks by making kissy faces, singing "Sammy and Cedes, sitting in a tree…" The pillow Sam throws his way lands with a satisfying thud on the side of Puck's still-mohawked head.

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**A/N**: Your reviews have been so appreciated. They're such a huge motivator! A huge thank you to all of you for the love. Please keep them coming! I get so nervous about your thoughts with every new chapter I post. Do you want more? Please review! Let me know how I'm doing! Ask me stuff. It helps me write. By the way, the musical inspiration for this chapter was Thorns by Charlie Simpson. Amazing song.


	4. Chapter 4

Mercedes thinks glaring at her cell phone so intensely—in fact, she's pretty sure she hates it—must be some indication that she's slowly losing her grip on her sanity, but she can't dwell on it; certainly not with the million other thoughts currently battling for dominance on her mind. She's been at it for two days—her mind a right mess of nerves ever since she saw Sam in that coffee shop and pressed that card into his hand.

At the time, she'd been so sure it was the right move. A vat of dormant feelings had been so suddenly uncovered and unleashed on her heart and thoughts. The fondest memories—ones she'd spent the last two years valiantly blocking out, telling herself they were just bits of the past she needed to let go—resurfaced, playing incessantly on her mind, refusing to be shut out again.

All she'd been able to think about was that she couldn't walk away from him right then and have that be the end. She knew it sounded crazy, but she couldn't help but think fate—that tether that she still felt no matter how hard she tried to deny it—had brought them there for a reason, giving them a chance to silence two years of doubt and finally answer those questions that still lingered.

They were meant to reconnect, even as friends—at least, she'd thought so. His demeanor, the look in his eyes, everything about him that day had told her he'd felt the same. She's surprised at the intense disappointment she feels with every second that he doesn't call and her heart can't help its crestfallen sinking at the consideration that she'd simply read him wrong.

He wasn't in her life anymore—hadn't been for years. It was entirely possible—probable even—that he'd simply moved on, that she no longer had the seemingly permanent hold on his heart that she'd always had—and still did—for him.

Her thoughts drift back to his words two days ago, "Puck said you'd already gone." He'd come for her. Those words had been the most bittersweet song to her ears. All those nights she'd spent in LA, missing him so intensely she felt as if she could barely function at times, she'd secretly hoped that he would. Her heart had swelled hearing him say it, but instantly dropped again at the realization that she'd only just missed him—and his continued silence just proved he wasn't looking to go back.

Her mind tries to tell her it's for the best. She was already playing with fire, thinking about Sam as much as she had been. Callum had definitely noticed her distraction, eyeing her intently on their ride to the studio that morning. He'd asked her what was wrong, noting he'd never known her to be so frazzled and off kilter. Mercedes had quickly blamed jet-lag and Callum had taken her at her word for the moment, kissing her and promising her a quiet night in once they got done with the studio.

She feels guilty for not telling him the truth, but in that moment, she honestly couldn't even begin to explain what she was feeling to him—seeing as how she hadn't even begun to understand it herself. She wasn't even sure what she'd expected to come of this, or what any of it meant. All she knew was that, in the million scenarios she'd pictured in her head when she gave Sam that card, not one of them ever considered that he wouldn't call—and she's surprised by how intensely frustrated she is about it.

She has Callum now—Callum who loves her and is there for her. She'd moved on—or tried to. Why did the thought that Sam would do the same hurt so badly?

Mercedes groans at herself in exasperation, taking a sip from the glass of wine that'd been sitting idly in front of her. She feels ridiculous, sitting around waiting for a boy to call. She'd never been that girl, not even in high school. What was her problem now? She takes a deep breath and stands up from the seat she'd been occupying on the couch.

_I don't care_, she tells herself. She ignores the nagging voice that says, _here we go again, _as she begins her nearly perfected routine of convincing herself she's over Sam Evans. She leaves her phone on the coffee table as she heads into the kitchen to get herself another glass of wine—just to show it how much she doesn't care. She's almost at the refrigerator when the phone rings.

Mercedes will steadfastly deny every single one of the actions that took place after that. The wine glass she'd been holding falls to the floor as she jumps. She looks at it for a split second before she decides she doesn't care and runs back into the living room, where she trips over a pair of sneakers she swears marched their own way onto that spot out of nowhere.

She's a whole lot frazzled and breathless when she finally settles enough to get to the phone and answer. She hopes Sam won't notice, but it's, of course the first thing he mentions after he says hello. She explains it away vaguely and praises the Lord that he accepts it at her word. The last thing she wants to explain to him is how going out of her mind about him decided to manifest itself physically.

Her nerves are everywhere as he starts speaking and she feels silly at the hoard of butterflies that fill her belly at the mere sound of his voice. She winces with every giggle that bubbles out of her, the sound grating her ears, but she can't stop herself. She'd well and truly convinced herself this moment wouldn't happen. In an instant, however, he'd added a new twist to the rollercoaster of emotions she'd been riding for the last two days. The sudden shift is wreaking havoc on her insides.

She's thankful as she begins to settle into the conversation, slipping into their old patterns like a comfortable pair jeans. The flutters shift from her belly to her heart, however, and she knows she's in trouble. She feels the familiar stirrings, the way her cheeks hurt from laughing with him, the way she forgets about the world just listening to him talk, the way her heart is soothed by his mere presence. She wonders how she ever managed to convince herself she was fine without this.

The mess of memories that'd been running through her mind are more than just that now. It's their common ground, their history, and what's always been between them, It's still very much there.

Mercedes' heart thuds against her chest when he says that he's missed her. It's so forceful she's sure he can hear it and the weight of her emotions silence her momentarily as she processes his words. This was it. She was finally hearing the words that she'd been waiting on for so long, the ones she'd stayed up every night of those first months in LA wondering about.

Her guilt battles with her elation, however.

She wasn't supposed to want this as badly as she did. She wasn't supposed to take those words and squirrel them away into her heart. They weren't supposed lift a giant weight of doubt she'd sworn she'd shed long ago off of her shoulders. They weren't supposed to make her heart flurry with excitement and make her feel light.

She knows she has to spend time with her thoughts and figure out what this all means, but she goes with honesty—the feelings that are near bursting from her heart, that she has no hope of trying to keep from him at this point—and tells him she's missed him, too, her voice shaky from the effort of keeping her emotions at bay.

They're quiet for a moment after that, and Mercedes simply smiles. After the two days of overwhelming silence that threatened to drive her crazy, Mercedes takes comfort in the sound of his soft breathing. Her thoughts are buzzing all over the place, unable to settle, but he brings her out of them telling her he wants to see her.

Again, her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. Mere hours ago, she'd started to talk herself out of this ever happening. She had no idea what to do now that it was. She replies with the only thing she's sure of, smiling still and feeling a bit silly as she says, "I want to see you, too." She can hear the smile in his voice when he quietly says, "Okay," and sets up a plan.

Mercedes hangs up the phone with a content smile creeping its way across her face. This is dangerous and she knows it. She has a boyfriend—one whose friendship and affection she valued—and getting sucked in with Sam like this had the potential to devastate everyone involved.

But after two years of yearning, the effect Sam has on her heart is too enticing to let go. Besides, she'd only be getting together with him to hang out. There was no reason they couldn't be friendly and get to know each other again.

She ignores the voice in her head telling her she and Sam had never really quite gotten how to be just friends.

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**A/N**: Your reviews have been so amazing. Thanks so much for each and every word! They're such a huge motivator! Please keep them coming! I'm so nervous about this update. First of all it took me a while to write, but then...I just want to know what you guys think. LOL. It really helps me to write. Do you want more? Let me know how I'm doing or ask me stuff. I'm so, so nervous. Musical inspiration for this chapter: Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hey, y'all! Remember this one? Sorry it's taken me so long to get back here. Hopefully y'all enjoy it.

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"So, where are _you_ headed off to all spiffy and clean?" Mike asks with a knowing smirk on his face. He watches Sam walk out to inspect himself at the floor-length mirror in Sam's bedroom for the thirteenth time—adjusting yet another shirt. His friend is clearly in a panic and Mike is pretty sure he knows _exactly_ why.

He'd spoken to Sam earlier that week and Sam had snuck Mercedes being back in town into the conversation. He'd tried to be nonchalant about it, just stating a matter of fact, but Mike knows better than to believe that Sam is anything short of losing his mind about being near her again. It was no secret that Mercedes would always Sam's 'one that got away.'

Normally, he'd at least _attempt_ to offer some calming advice, but he is having way too much fun seeing Sam in this state. His smile is his very best troll grin when Sam looks over to him, showing just how _not_ amused he is with a disapproving glower. _Why so serious?_ _Love turned his friend into such a stick in the mud_, Mike thought with a shake of his head.

Sam doesn't even bother with an actual answer to Mike's question. Instead, he turns his attention back to his reflection in the mirror, nervously fidgeting with his t-shirt as he wonders why Mike had to pick _this_ day to come over and bug him. It only takes about a second before he sees something he doesn't like on the Chewbacca shirt he is wearing and he groans as he whips the shirt over his head and heads back into his closet. He ignores Mike's chuckle as his friend sits on his bed watching his every action. Moments later, he's back for the fourteenth time, tugging on a new shirt.

"Who's the girl? She _must_ be special. Anyone I know?" Mike asks from his perch on Sam's bed. He idly flips through a magazine, but really, his only focus is riling Sam—and he's doing a _stellar_ job of that.

"Who said anything about a girl?" Sam asks, feigning ignorance, as he adjusts his new t-shirt. He runs his hand over the glowing 'repulsor' graphic on the t-shirt and cocks his head to the side in consideration. _Would Mercedes find his comic book themed shirt familiar and endearing or roll her eyes at the fact that he was still the biggest nerd on the planet?_

Mike laughs loudly at the question, and Sam snaps his attention to his friend as he speaks. "Considering you _usually_ pick your outfit of the day according to the one that looks the cleanest from the pile of clothes you keep on your _floor_..." Mike says, pointing to said pile, and lets his sentence trail off as he turns back to the magazine he is not in the least bit reading and flips the page.

Sam rolls his eyes, pulls on his shirt some more, but can't deny it. Folding things and putting them in drawers or hangers hasn't exactly been a priority of late. He's on his own now—well, him and Puck. But, Puck wasn't about to be the one to scold him about picking up after himself.

"So, who is she?" Mike asks, bringing Sam out of his thoughts. He isn't going to let it go until Sam spills the beans. He's pretty sure he already knows, anyway.

"No one." Sam's tone is defensive as he denies Mike's implication. He can already tell where this will go. The last thing he needs is for Mike to get on his case. He'd never hear the end of it. "It's not like that," Sam says, still pulling on the shirt he is wearing.

"What is it _like_?" Mike asks, lifting wide innocent eyes to his friend. He is keeping things playful for now, but he really does want to know where Sam's head is at.

Sam glares at his friend. _Why can't he ever just mind his own business?_

"It's just—it's just coffee with Mercedes," Sam mutters, knowing Mike will only continue to bother him if he doesn't give him something. He was like a dog with a bone. "Just catching up with a friend," he adds, and ignores the unsettling feeling that takes root in the pit of his stomach at the word 'friend'. That's what it was, though. He had to remember that.

"You mean you've got this fashion show going over here and it's not even a date?" Mike asks before falling into a fit of laughter. Had he not been so focused on his trolling, he might have seen the discarded shirt that sailed his way before it flopped onto his face. He squawks a little, but starts laughing again as he watches a shirtless Sam stalk back into the closet for the fifteenth time.

"Honestly, man. She's already seen your face. If she's not appalled already, the clothes aren't really going to make much of a difference. You're golden," Mike yells teasingly, completely amused with himself.

He dodges the sneaker that comes sailing from the closet, but Puck isn't as lucky. He chose the wrong moment to come inquire about a Call of Duty tournament.

"What the hell is going on in here?" he yells, rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder where the shoe had hit. Mike only laughs. Sam stalks out of the closet moments later, wearing yet another shirt, a plaid one this time.

"Is Sam wearing clothes from off a hanger?" Puck asks, his tone completely intrigued. "Who's the girl?" He sits down next to Mike on the bed and waits for Sam's answer.

Sam groans in frustration. He still isn't completely in love with the shirt he's wearing, but another moment in the room with these two and he was going to lose it. He grabs a hairbrush, his shoes, his wallet, and his car keys—fully intending on getting ready in his car. Puck and Mike, however, have different ideas and follow him out to the living room, stopping him in his tracks and guiding him to the couch.

"What?" Sam huffs in irritation. He already has enough on his mind, what with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest at the thought of where he was about to go—who he would see. The last thing he needs is for his friends to add onto the pile.

"Just all jokes aside, dude," Mike says, his demeanor suddenly serious. "We have to make sure you're good before you do this." Puck nods his agreement at that statement. Sam has the feeling this isn't the first conversation the two of them have had on the subject. He also has a feeling he knows why Mike popped up today of all days, intent on seeing him off.

Sam looks between the two of them for a moment before speaking. "Okay," he says. "I get the concern. I appreciate it, but I know what I'm doing. It's not a big deal. It's just coffee."

Mike and Puck look at Sam disbelievingly. Sam tended to get quiet about Mercedes, especially after he'd gotten to LA only to find she was gone. He rarely ever talked about that time, but Mike and Puck had talked to Sam every day of that fateful trip. They know the hope their friend had harbored in his heart as he journeyed across the country. They'd been there when he got to LA that June—they'd seen all that hope burn out. They know Sam has never quite recovered from having his heart ripped out.

Mike and Puck have also known Sam long enough to know the signs, and Sam is definitely harboring some new hope in his heart over this unexpected reunion, no matter what he actually says—at least if the way he smiles like a doofus whenever he talks about her is anything to go by, or the fact that he can't stop trying on t-shirts non-date.

They'd seen these signs before. Sam is still as sprung over Mercedes as he'd ever been in high school. As much fun as it is to see him in this state, however, they know they have to talk about the other bit Sam had mentioned in their conversations, too—the _boyfriend_. They've seen Sam crash and burn before and just want to make sure it won't go there again.

They explain as much to Sam, and he takes in their words—his jaw tightening at the mention of the of that awful June and again at the mention of the boyfriend. Puck and Mike look to each other knowingly at the action. Sam briefly wants to give in, wants to talk it over with his friends who know everything first hand, but he thinks about his impending meeting with Mercedes and smiles. He doesn't want to ruin what promises to be a great day, thinking about things that he knows will upset him right now and ultimately declines. They'd talk about it some other time. Today, he is just going to enjoy his day.

He can tell his friends aren't happy with that and does his best to reassure them.

"I'll be fine, y'all," he tell them. "It's just coffee, okay?" he adds with a small smile, not even sure if he believes himself.

Mike wants to say something more, but ultimately just nods as Sam gets up to leave. He doesn't bring up that he'd heard Sam say that once before. It'd been on a nice spring day after nationals in high school. Sam had been headed to the Lima Bean with the very same girl—and it definitely hadn't been _just coffee_.

* * *

**A/N: Please review?!** They have literally been what's kept me writing this story. For a while I was going to delete it off FF, but I got so many nice messages about it, that I decided to keep it around. Thank you for that. It literally kept me going with this one. Hopefully I'll keep hearing from y'all if you want more! Mercedes' POV will follow this at some point. Santinacedes is all I have to say about that for now. And then finally after that, the meeting. Then more. It's already outlined. Okay, leaving now. Let me know what you think! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Musical inspiration for this chapter: Me Without You by Loick Essien. It's definitely worth a listen. :)

* * *

"Wait." The word comes out half muffled by a tipsy giggle and Mercedes prepares herself for the next messy thing sure to come out of Santana's mouth. She had been on a roll the whole night. The five glasses of wine in her system only spur her on.

"_Sam_?" Santana asks, and then she throws her head back to laugh.

Mercedes rolls her eyes at her friend's clearly amused state, huffs out a sigh, and says, "Yes."

"_Evans_?" Santana replies.

"Yes. Sam Evans," Mercedes says, her annoyance clearly shining through her curt tone.

"Trouty Mouth?" Santana asks, still giggling.

"How many Sam Evanses do you know, Santana?" Mercedes snaps, exasperated. "Honestly."

Santana didn't skip a beat, immediately dissolving into a chorus of 'I Will Always Love You' before falling out into a fit of drunken giggles. Mercedes had stopped at two glasses of wine a while before and now sat staring at her friend, wondering why she'd ever thought this was a good idea.

It takes a minute, but the girl is finally able to calm herself. "This gone be _good_," Santana decides and promptly turns to pour herself a sixth glass.

"Do you ever just do moral support without the rude commentary?" Mercedes asks and Santana immediately sucks on her teeth in response.

"Hell_ no_," Santana says succinctly. "If you wanted the feelings and tears shit, you should have called Tina. I am _not_ the one."

"You're obnoxious," Mercedes informs her, but she knows the exact reason she'd called Santana here. Her friend wouldn't be afraid to tell her the truth, and with everything going on in her life at the moment, as confused as she is about her own feelings, she needs someone who's going to tell her straight—no fuss or frills, just the honest truth.

Except Santana hadn't helped a bit and Mercedes kind of wants to club her. She's just about to, when Santana's next question stops her dead in her tracks.

"What did English have to say about _that?_" Santana asks. She'd insisted on calling Callum that from the day she'd met him. Gone are the drunken giggles. In their place, Santana's astute gaze settles on Mercedes' face, although a hint of amusement shines in her eyes.

Mercedes can feel her face heat up and shies away from Santana's knowing expression, trying to hide, but Santana isn't having it.

"_Ow_," Mercedes yelps, frantically rubbing the spot on her arm Santana pinches. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"I asked you a question," Santana says, her wine sloshing a bit as she gestures with the hand holding the glass. "I don't have time for the blushing face. I didn't come here for the blushing face. Spill. _Ahora_."

"He doesn't know," Mercedes says and winces at the scandalized expression that immediately blossoms all over Santana's face.

"_Aretha Jones!_" Santana squeals and then the giggles are back. Santana has to set her wine glass down to laugh properly. She lays back on the couch, her head pillowed within the cushions and brings both of her hands to cover her face.

She's near snorting and Mercedes flops back onto the couch as well, huffing out a sigh.

"I stand corrected," Santana gasps out after a moment and Mercedes turns to look at her. "This gone be _really good!_"

"Shut up," Mercedes replies, smacking her. It doesn't help one bit as Santana goes on laughing. _My emotions are in shambles, _Mercedes thinks_. What the hell is so funny?_

"Mercedes," Santana says when she finally manages to calm down. "What the hell are you doing? Wait...I thought you said Callum was there?" Santana asks.

"He was," Mercedes answers, not really getting why the conversation had backtracked there.

"He saw the two of you together then. What did he say?" Santana asked.

"Nothing," Mercedes explained. "I mean, he noticed it was a little weird, but I just told him in was jet lag."

"And he actually bought that? Wait—," Santana says, and then she's giving Mercedes a look that intimidates the hell out of her. "Does he know about you and Sam?"

The heat is creeping back up onto Mercedes' face and she doesn't even try to hide her blushing face this time, fearing another pinch.

"_Mercedes!_" Santana says and Mercedes really wishes her friend would stop squealing like that.

"He knows there was a boy—a long time ago," Mercedes explains weakly. "He just doesn't know that boy is Sam."

"Are you going to tell him?" Santana asks and frowns when Mercedes shakes her head.

"There's nothing to tell," Mercedes says. "It was a really long time ago," she adds and she doesn't even believe herself as the words leave her mouth. Santana doesn't either if the look she sends Mercedes' way is any indication. It says 'bullshit' and Mercedes finds herself looking away again.

"You lying liar who lies," Santana retorts, picking up her wine glass again and taking a sip. "Are we going to go back there?"

Mercedes simply shakes her head, still refusing to look at her friend.

"God, this is exactly like high school!" Santana yells in exasperation. "Like, if you guys are about to start this merry-go-round, giving each other sad puppy looks, and torturing the shit out of yourselves—like, I will be forced to stab one of you with a rusty butter knife. Just don't. Or at least give me fair warning when it's about to happen so I can make sure I'm far far away."

"It's not like that," Mercedes mumbles unconvincingly. "Not anymore. We're just friends. I haven't even seen him in two years."

"When have you and Sam Evans ever known how to be just friends? Remind me," Santana snaps. It was clearly a rhetorical question because, before Mercedes can get in a single word, Santana's speaking again.

"Were you just friends when you were sneaking off together in New York back in high school? Were you just friends when you spent the whole summer learning each other's 'human nature' behind closed doors? Everyone knew, by the way," Santana started. "Was it when you went all Bella Swan and locked yourself in your bedroom for a month after he moved to Kentucky? Or it must have been when he got back and followed you around the whole school like he was a hungry puppy and you were a tasty bone. Or maybe it was when you went to LA and you both spent a year moping about it," she finished and Mercedes rolled her eyes, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes.

She knew Santana was right. She knew she had to hear it. That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"What are you doing, Mercedes?" Santana asks, her voice softer than it had been the entire night.

Mercedes huffs out a sad laugh and shrugs. "I don't know," she says honestly, finally turning her watery eyes onto her friend's face. "I don't know," she says again. "I saw him and all this..._stuff_," Mercedes starts, putting a hand over her heart and extending from there to mimic a spill, then trails off. "I just want to see him again."

"You know this is playing with fire?" Santana warns. "And it's not like in high school where you just walk away and shed a few tears. Callum isn't Shane. He's not just going to just cut his losses like, 'Oh well.' You've been together for a year and you told him nothing about this guy. There's gonna be a lot of 'splainin' to do."

"I know," Mercedes answers, and doesn't even bother feigning ignorance to Santana's words. She'd definitely been thinking about all of this since she set eyes on Sam again. It'd only gotten stronger after their phone call. "I just—we're not there yet, okay?"

Santana stares at her blankly.

"We haven't seen each other in two years. We're not the same people anymore. Right now, it's just coffee," Mercedes answers as honestly as she can.

She can tell Santana wants to say something more, but sees her friend physically rein herself in. Santana reaches for her glass of wine, taking another sip before saying, "Well, if—or, let's be honest here—_when_ it's not _just coffee_," Santana starts, and Mercedes rolls her eyes. "Do us all a favor and just be honest with yourself, and with both of them, too," Santana finishes.

Mercedes stares at Santana for a long moment before she nods her head in agreement.

"Seriously," Santana adds giving Mercedes a look. "Lima Heights will be the least of your worries if I have to sit through another round of kicked puppy and sad panda looks. I've learned some things these last couple of years. I'll end you both and put us all out of our misery. Don't try me."

Mercedes shakes her head and laughs, finally pouring herself another glass. With her non-date with Sam still looming a few hours away, she needed to settle her nerves.

* * *

**A/N:** **Please review if you wanna see more! Let me know what you think.** The next part of this will be the 'non-date' finally! Lol. What do you wanna see go down? What do you think?

I hope everybody enjoyed that part. I had a lot of fun writing it because Santana is just a character that can be such a fool, but then again, she can be so real and amazing. Tina was meant to be involved here, but she wouldn't speak, I just kept hearing Santana's voice in my head. So, I hope that isn't too much of a disappointment since I'd promised some Santinacedes. I hope Sancedes is cool, too.

Thank you to everyone that has continued to read and leave reviews for this even after it took me so long to get back here. They have been really uplifting and encouraging which is just what I needed.


	7. Chapter 7

He's ridiculous. He knows that for a fact.

Every passing second he spends watching her from his car across the street only makes him more certain. He's _totally_ ridiculous—and just a little bit creepy, too—but he can't bring himself to stop.

He's glad Mike and Puck aren't anywhere around. If they were, he's more than sure he'd have been under the scrutiny of their judging eyes at that moment—and he's already judging himself enough for the both of them.

She'd gotten there five minutes ago and had chosen a seat at one of the outdoor tables to wait. He'd been entirely prepared to walk in after her and meet her, but when she'd crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward, turning her head to survey the street, it 'd given him pause.

It 's the first real moment he's gotten to look at her face—just simply look and take her in without distraction. He doesn't have to worry about finding the perfect words or keeping his heart from beating out of his chest. He can just take his time and drink her in—and he does, reveling in the opportunity after a long two years of wanting.

She's different—a bit more grown up, more confident, more beautiful—but she's still the same in all the ways that count.

Her eyes are still the same—big and doe-like. Sam remembers them well. They had reeled him in every time. Everything she wanted from him had been hers with just one look. He knows he's far from immune to their effect, even two years later as he watches her now. He wants to give her everything and she hadn't even asked.

Her cute button nose scrunches adorably. He remembers that, too—remembers the many kisses he'd placed on it to incite that very same reaction. He remembers all the times he'd brushed his nose against it, right before capturing her lips with his own.

As if on cue, she bites her plump bottom lip, looking up and down the street. He blushes madly at where his thoughts go as she releases her lip from her teeth and licks them. He remembers her lips—their softness, fullness, sweetness, and insistence against his own.

It's all he can do to focus on safer, neutral territory.

_Her hair_—it cascades over her shoulders in a series of loose curls. He smiles as he thinks of all the styles she'd gone through in high school and all the times he'd nearly lost a hand for daring to run his hands through her locks.

He watches intently as she runs her fingers through them. He remembers her fingers—_really well_—but he doesn't allow his thoughts to traipse any further down that road.

The blue sundress she's wearing is subtler than anything she'd ever worn in high school and he finds himself lost in how much softer it makes her look. The bodice hugs her tightly, cinching at the waist, while the material of the skirt hangs airily around the smooth brown skin of her legs.

She lifts her head as the server comes to ask if she's ready to order, offering him a lazy smile and Sam's heart squeezes at the sight of it. He remembers that, too. It'd haunted him every minute of the last two years.

That smile had gotten him through the darkest point of his life, shining brightly on him even as the world tried to close in, making him believe in a happy ending even as life tried to convince him otherwise. He'd held onto it in his heart even when he was away from her and he'd come back for it the first chance he got. Looking at it now, he's certain he's still holding on as tightly as he'd ever been.

Sam groans in frustration. He takes his eyes away from her for the first time and drops his head onto the headrest, staring up at the roof of the car. He's in trouble. Now that he's alone, without Mike and Puck to prod him, he can admit it. He still wants her and he has no hope of denying it.

He should have been over her, it'd been two years after all, but his heart had clearly never gotten the memo. Its beat sped up as he righted himself again and let his eyes rake over her figure. She was beautiful.

Doing this would be irrevocable. Whatever was still there between them would be sorted out for sure with this one meeting. Sam doesn't know if he's ready for that. They would either grow from here; or everything would crash and die an abrupt death—and he can admit that will probably devastate him. He has to be careful and he knows it.

No matter how much he wants to push it away, she's with somebody else and had been for a while. He couldn't just go in throwing caution to the wind like he had in high school. He has to do this the right way, even if he has no idea what that is just yet.

The one thing he is certain of is this. He's not over her and this isn't just coffee—at least not for him. This is his inability to walk away from her. This is his helplessness in still loving her. This is him letting the heart that still aches for her have one moment's reprieve. That's what he knows. The rest would come in time.

He watches her glance down at the watch on her wrist before looking nervously up and down the street again and he's out of the car before he can think anymore. Figuring everything out would have to wait.

He's a nervous wreck as he makes his way across the street. Butterflies seemed to have vacated the premises of his stomach making ample space for his organs to twist themselves into knots over what he's about to do. He's not entirely certain he won't pass out, but the smile she offers him as he makes his way over propel him forward.

His returning smile is a bit pathetic in its helplessness, but he doesn't care and lets it grow wide across his face. "Hey, Mercedes," he says in greeting, reveling in how good it feels to say it after all this time. Her only response is a nervous giggle and he knows he's grinning like a fool at the sound of it, and the way she ducks her head away from his gaze.

"I got you a chocolate chip cookie," she informs him nervously when she can look back up. Her smile is bashful as he sits and pulls his chair next to her. "I-I re-remembered you liked them," she stammers and Sam thinks it's adorable. His smile softens in response. She was nervous, too.

_At least I'm not the only one_, he thinks as he leans over to kiss her cheek in greeting. He lingers there entirely too long, and her stuttered breathing isn't lost on him, but she doesn't push him away and he tries not to be too excited about it.

In another moment he sits back, pulling his chair even closer to hers.

If he can still read her right, and he's pretty sure he can, the look in her eyes is one of awe, relief, and another emotion that should have faded away two years ago. He knows all of those things are equally reflected in his gaze.

He feels her hand wrap lightly around his fingers and squeeze, her thumb running over his knuckles for the briefest moment before she lets go again.

He's powerless to contain the tiny seed of hope that takes root at the action.

* * *

A/N: This bit is brought to you by Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars. Gave me all the feels while I was listening to it and brought me here. Next up, Mercedes' POV and the bulk of the non-date! I hope you enjoyed! **Please leave me a review!** :)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Sorry it's taken so long. Those of you still reading can blame my day job. Hope y'all enjoy.

* * *

She's ridiculous. She knows that much—because _only_ that could explain why she's as nervous as she is; her eyes sweeping up and down the street, panic expanding with every passing second she sits alone at the table. Not for the first time since she'd taken her seat, she wonders. Why did she even come?

The waiter interrupts her thinking, expecting her to order and she sweeps her eyes up and down the street once more, before she directs a small smile at him. She orders her drink and a biscotti.

"Would you like to get an order started for your date?" the waiter asks and Mercedes gapes at him stupidly for a few seconds.

"He's not my—," she starts, before deciding the waiter couldn't care less about the story of her life. She closes her eyes for a moment and waves it off. "I mean, uh, a chocolate chip cookie would be fine," she says, remembering his love for them whenever they'd gone to Lima Bean. "He'll order his own drink. I'm not sure," she finishes and the waiter nods, smiling kindly before going off again.

_Her date?_ _And why had her mind jumped to the Lima Bean?_ She brushes it off and returns to the task of watching the street. At this point, she isn't sure what she's more nervous about—the thought of that he won't show up or the thought that he will. Both scenarios will have their repercussions and she isn't sure which one she'd rather deal with.

She shouldn't have come—shouldn't have even entertained the thought of being around him again—because she has a boyfriend. Because it'd been over for two years. Because she should have let this go by now. Because Santana's assessment had been spot on, calling the whole thing dangerous. She _knows_ that, yet, here she is, like a moth to the flame that just refused to burn out.

It's not a surprise—not really. It's always been this way from the very start. It'd always been there between them and it only takes seeing his face in that coffee shop to let her know that it might be still. No matter how much she tries to convince herself that he is all wrong—that _they_ are all wrong for each other—there she is still.

After prom, it'd been the same. She'd reasoned it'd just been a night caught up, but she'd showed up at the motel the next day anyway—a backpack full of movies and snacks in hand, and a head full of denial to explain away that fluttering in her heart when he flashed that crooked grin at her pulled her into a grateful hug. They were just friends and friends did that kind of stuff. She'd told herself that, even as she showed up the next day, and the next, and every one after that, too.

After nationals, they were _still_ just good friends, but she'd still answered his text and met him for a cheap hot dog cart date in Central Park anyway. She still remembers like it was yesterday—sneaking away from the group. He'd grabbed her hand when she made it downstairs and she'd ignored the butterflies. They'd ended up sitting in the small amphitheater, the world moving around them—clouds, birds, cars, bikes, skateboards, and feet going this way and that—but only having eyes for each other. He'd sung to her with his guitar—_Somebody's Heartbreak_ by Hunter Hayes—and she'd smiled so hard her cheeks hurt by the end. It was nothing more than a fleeting moment, she'd reasoned, even as they shared a sweet kiss in the park. She'd told herself that, even as she hummed that country tune the next day, and the next, and every one after that, too.

After the Lima Bean, they'd still been living inside that moment—a passing thing, clearly, because it was perfect and perfect couldn't possibly be hers to keep—but, she'd accepted his kiss anyway when they got back to the car, shuddering as his sweet coffee-flavored tongue slid enticingly against her own. It wouldn't last. She'd told herself that, even as she kissed him again the next day, and the next, and every one after that, too.

His move to Kentucky had felt like an 'I told you so'—confirmation of everything she'd told herself—but it'd hurt like hell just the same. She hid it well—she was Mercedes Jones after all, and Mercedes Jones didn't pine over boys...in public. The ache in her heart would go away, she'd reasoned, even as the memories of their perfect summer together kept her up at night. She'd get over it eventually. She'd told herself that even as she missed him the next day, and the next, and every one after that, too.

When he'd come back to Lima, it'd felt like God was messing with her—hitting her with a wallop of emotions she'd finally managed to tamp down to manageable levels. She'd had an excuse for every move he made, every smile he sent her way, and every grand gesture. His situation wasn't stable. He'd leave again soon enough and she'd be right back where she started. He was only caught in the moment and he'd eventually lose interest. Then, there was Shane. They'd be better off apart, she'd reasoned—even as she let him back into her life little by little. It was just a summer fling. She'd told herself that, even as she found herself in his company again the next day, and the next, and every one after that, too.

After senior prom, she was finally willing to accept whatever it was between them for as long as she could have it. It wouldn't be forever, but she'd spent months being careful, bottling up everything, and feeling guilty about all of it. She was tired, and giving into what her heart had been telling her all this time had been so easy. She'd have to let him go again, she knew, but she could have him for now and the next day, and the next, and every one they got after that, too.

Moving to Los Angeles had felt like deja vu, letting him go again after she'd just gotten him back, but she'd known it was coming. She'd smiled through the pain of it, like all the times before, telling herself it'd go away, even as the ache burned more acutely than it ever had. They were on different paths. They'd agreed to that. It was for the best. She'd told herself that even as she held out hope their paths would cross again—if not the next day, then the next, and if not then, then maybe any one after that.

Saying yes to Callum had felt like moving on after so long spent holding on to something that would clearly never happen. He'd stirred something within her that she hadn't felt since Sam—making her smile and being there for her like no one else had been in a while. The fire in her heart hadn't burnt as brightly for him as it had for Sam, but Sam was long gone. What was the point of holding onto a memory when she had something good and real right in front of her just waiting for her green light? It might not have been love then, but they could get there. She'd told herself that and she'd given him her all from then to the next day, and the next, and every one after that.

Everyday had felt a little bit more like love, but it'd only taken a moment to bring it all crashing back. She's supposed to be over it, but the feelings she'd spent a year pushing away bubbled back up all at once, leaving her with no hope of pushing them away again. Now that she's had the time to sit with her thoughts, without Santana to taunt her and Callum shooting her questioning looks, she can admit it. The feelings were still there and she knows she's in trouble.

She blows out a nervous breath as she looks anxiously up and down the street for the hundredth time, before looking down at her wristwatch, ignoring the sinking feeling that accompanies the action. Maybe he was stuck in traffic. Maybe he'd gotten a flat tire. Maybe he'd thought about all of this for a second and wondered what the hell he was doing? She drops her head into her hands with a groan. She's totally ridiculous—and probably crazy, too—and she can't make herself stop. This whole thing was fucking with her head, leaving her clueless as to what to do and she definitely wasn't going to ask Santana again.

The one thing she's certain of is this. This isn't just coffee. This is her inability to walk away from him no matter what she told herself—no matter what she did to refute the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. Doing this—allowing herself to be around him again after all this time—would be irrevocable. It would be a turning feelings she had for him were clearly not a thing of the past. They burnt as brightly as they ever had and putting herself in this situation would open the door for them, inviting them to burst out of her with no hope of denying them again.

She should have been over him. It'd been two years, after all, but clearly her heart had never gotten the memo. In fact, its beat speeds up as she lifts her head back up to sweep the street once more, ready to let the thought of him not showing up be the next thing to drive her insane, and she sees him. She lets her eyes rake over him, unable to help the relieved sigh she breathes, or the beam she sends his way.

He's as effortlessly gorgeous as he's always been, his t-shirt clinging to his torso in all the right ways and his jeans settling perfectly against him. He flashes her a nervous smile and she tamps down the urge to roll her eyes at the way her insides flutter with the sight of it, even as she continues to ogle him.

"Hey Mercedes," he says when he gets close enough and gives herself an internal side-eye at the sound of the fawning giggle that bubbles out of her. _What was she? Twelve? Ugh._

She ducks away from his smile in embarrassment, feeling her face heat up. She takes the time to take a deep breath, pulling herself together. She needs to be calm and she knows that. No matter how she feels, running into this situation head first isn't the way to go. She needs to be careful because there's more than just herself to consider. Whatever happens here will affect Sam, too—and Callum. She can't just go in, throwing caution to the wind like she had in high school. She has to do this the right way, even if she has no idea what that is just yet.

"I got you a chocolate chip cookie," she says shyly when she gathers the courage to look back up at him. "I-I re-remembered you like them," she stammers and _what the hell was wrong with her? Get it together Mercedes Jones!_ The soft smile he sent her way didn't help things and she's pretty sure she's going to stop breathing altogether when he leans in to kiss her cheek, lingering there entirely too long, but entirely welcome just the same.

She can only watch as he pulls back and looks at her, pulling his chair closer to hers. She does not trust herself to speak in that moment, knowing she'll only make a fool of herself confessing things that neither of them are ready for. So, she only looks at him, awe, relief, and another emotion that should have faded away years ago. She's not lost on the fact that his gaze returns all of it.

Her hand wraps itself almost involuntarily around his, her thumb brushing his knuckles for the briefest moment before she lets go again, ignoring the fact that the contact leaves her hand tingling and leaves her resisting the urge to reach for him again.

She's grateful when the waiter makes his return, giving her something else to focus on besides Sam. She immediately reaches for the coffee mug, desperate to feel its burn and not the heat of Sam's skin still tingling her skin. He makes quick work of his order, asking for a black coffee with two sugars, and she smiles at him. He'd never been one for the frilly drinks and she's happy to see that hasn't changed.

"Biscotti," he points out, staring at the treat on her plate and she laughs, nodding. "Somewhere in New York City, Blaine Anderson smiling and approving your choices," he says and Mercedes snorts.

"He's the one that got me into them. He gave me a whole box of gourmet ones one Christmas because Tina told him she was getting me a Keurig," Mercedes informs him, lifting her mug to her lips for sip.

"They taste like sugar frosted rocks," Sam tells her and laughs when Mercedes nearly spits out the sip of the drink she'd just taken. "I guess you can afford a biscotti addiction, though," he says, talking as if deeply considering the topic. "Your dad's a dentist and all."

"Shut up, Sam...and they do not," she argues, even as she laughs at the comment. "They're delicious, especially this one because it's got chocolate and hazelnuts. Try it," she prods, pushing the plate toward him.

"I'll pass. Plenty of chocolate in this here cookie," he says lifting up the soft chocolate chip cookie she'd ordered and breaking it apart in front of her. The gooey chocolate morsels come apart with ease. "I don't have to break my teeth to get at it, either."

"Shut up, Sam," she says with a laugh, grabbing up her biscotti.

She dunks it into her coffee and takes a gleeful bite, and just like that, the nervousness dies. The distance fades and the years they'd spent apart don't seem as wide a gap as they had just moments before.

It's not long before they're bantering like they always had, arguing about the merits of 'Hakuna Matata' over 'YOLO' as a life motto—Sam contending Mercedes just chose YOLO because she thought Drake was cute, to which Mercedes' only response was an indignant snort, which Sam points out is not a denial.

They quickly move on to 'worst disaster while living with Puck' stories from there and those run the gamut from using an aluminum bowl to microwave food and mohawk hairs left in the bathroom sink to 'naked Hump days' spent on the shared couch (for which there'd been an actual argument about him at least putting a towel under his junk). Mercedes is crying with laughter after that revelation, telling Sam he definitely wins.

Soon after they circle back to themselves, and its dangerous territory, but they keep it light, poking fun at their relationship without delving where they really wanted to go.

"It was rude as hell and you know it," she tells him, snorting when he rolls his eyes.

"I was simply telling you I needed you in the auditorium right then," Sam explains, waving her off.

"Yes, I know. In all caps. Two words and no 'could you please' 'if you can spare the time' 'if you're not busy'. Rude," she says laughing.

"What can I say," Sam starts and his eyes are boring into her when he continues, "I had something on my mind. I guess it clouded my judgment." His look is intense—too much—and she looks away with a heated blush before steering the conversation to lighter pastures with the mention of the items of discussion for their God Squad meetings.

In this manner, the first hour passes, quickly followed by a second and a third and its not until her phone rings that Mercedes realizes she's lost track of the time. She winces as she apologizes to Callum, who she hadn't remembered to call and inform she wouldn't be home like she said she'd be an hour ago.

"I'm sorry, Cal," she says guiltily and winces again watching Sam's smile fade right off his face before he looks down to hide it. She quickly wraps up the call before she's looking at Sam again. She pulls on his hand so he'll look at her and smiles softly at him.

"You have to go," he says, and she ignores the sadness she hears in his tone.

"Yes," she says reluctantly, and she ignores the sinking feeling as she stands to gather her things. She's reaching into her wallet for cash when his hand reaches up to hers. His 'girl, please' looks makes her laugh and she bends down to kiss his cheek before she can think about it too much. She's the one lingering there a bit too long this time.

Her hands are still on his face a moment later when she pulls back and neither of them fails to notice how he leans his face into her touch. Still neither of them mentions it. "Same old Sam," she whispers at him with an adoring gaze before she sets off.

She's only taken about five steps away from him, her emotions swirling with every one, before she turns back to him, only to find him right behind her. They both laugh nervously as they look at each other.

"Listen," he starts and she watches him run his hand through his hair, a telltale sign that he was nervous. "We should do this again. I mean, not coffee, but we should hang out...more...you know, sometime...soon." He smiles when he's finally spit it out and looks up to find her already nodding at him.

She should have walked away, but this hadn't been goodbye. She knew that.

She starts off for her car, powerless to stop the tiny seed of light that plants itself in her heart over the thought of seeing him again. She's totally ridiculous and she needs to sit and think about all of this, but it doesn't stop that light from growing the next moment, and the next, and every one after that.

* * *

**A/N:** The good stuff happens in the next chapters. Samcedes hang out that second time and things get said. Callum and Mercedes have a talk. The return of the bros and Santana. Stay tuned lol. I'll shut up. **Please leave a review if you liked it.**


	9. Chapter 9

Sam sees la vie en rose—no glasses ever rosier than the pair he's been sporting since that first non-date. And all the non-dates since then do nothing to dim the hue. There've been breakfasts, lunches, dinners, drinks, walks, and even an afternoon of movie marathons that have him remembering where it all began. He's pretty sure she remembers, too, because she returns his nostalgic smiles and when his hands find hers, to assure his heart that she's really there, her fingers fit into the waiting space. He doesn't really know what she tells Callum she's doing with all that time—but he doesn't really care. It's not important right now—not in the face of finally getting to be with her again.

They're just being friendly, anyhow—cause friends definitely gave each other smoldering stares and left heated trails of goosebumps against each other's skin when they accidentally touched. It's definitely just friendly, but Sam is drunk on time—and smiles, and giggles, and hugs that press a little too tight, and kisses that linger a bit too long on his cheeks, and this girl he'd thought he'd was lost to him forever.

He's happy—laughing, smiling more, and walking around with enough pep in his step to rival a squad of cheerleaders. Everyone notices—his friends at work constantly teasing him about jonesing on some girl. Sam merely blushes, smiling sheepishly, but refuses to comment. They have no idea how right they are. He ignores the grim looks he gets from Mike and Puck while he practically floats around. On some level, he knows they're right. The situation is far from settled. Mercedes is still with someone else—and he's still just a boy from long ago—but he can't help himself.

He'd spent two long years hoping for this chance—two years waiting, praying, hoping for her to waltz back into his life, and now that she has, he is almost powerless against the heady feeling of it all. Knowing she is within reach. Knowing he can simply call her up. Knowing he can see her at a moment's notice. The possibility _had_ been there _before_ he bumped into her that day. He could always have tracked her down. He could have tried to talk to her, but he'd always avoided it. The 'what ifs' had always been there, nagging at him. What if she hadn't wanted to talk to him? What if she had moved on? What if he'd been the only one holding on?

But now, he knows, and every new moment they spend together only makes him more certain. Whatever had been there between them isn't gone. The way she looks at him as he makes his way into the studio to see her now confirms the fact. Her eyes light up as does the smile on her face and she reaches for him as if his progress into the room isn't fast enough.

They'd been on the phone texting to all hours the night before—an old habit that had come back to life with their reconnection. It was like once the communication had started up again, they couldn't make themselves quit. They found themselves talking everyday about something or other. Sam remembered that non-couple couples' counseling session she'd dragged him to. They'd both been like deer caught in headlights when Ms. Pillsbury had suggested they stopped talking. He had no doubts their reaction would be the same now.

In her texts, Mercedes had had some nervous energy about the tracks she'd been recording in LA. The songs were the culmination of her last three years of writing and recording. This was it. These would be the songs she would feature to her label in hopes of finally moving forward with a single and an album. She'd been nervous about them being good enough.

Sam jumped at her invite to come out, listen to them, and give her his honest feedback. And he'd practically drowned in his feels at her admission that his opinion would feature among the most important.

"There you are!" she exclaims when she sees him, pulling him into an immediate hug and Sam just goes, allowing himself a moment to drink her in—the feel of her, the scent of her—before he pulls away again. "You took long enough. I was beginning to think you'd stood me up!"

Sam laughs, holding up the bags of lunch he'd brought. "And miss the opportunity to hear you sing? No, ma'am," Sam says shooting her smile nothing short of adoring. "I figured you'd be holed up in here all afternoon, freaking out. I stopped for some grub," he informs her, pulling a chair close to hers. "I turn into Simon Cowell on an empty stomach and no one wants that," he informs her, smiling when she giggles at him.

The sound is music to his ears and Sam can admit in his heart that he has it bad as it fills him with warmth. He sighs contentedly as he looks at her—all light and shiny and beautiful. He still had a hard time believing she was actually back in his life. Mercedes' giggling stops and she bites her lip nervously at his look, prompting Sam to stop making things awkward. He looks away and routs through the bag, pulling out the sandwich he'd gotten her. "I would have been here sooner, actually, but my boss just has impeccable timing as usual," he explains as he hands her the food. "The moment I'm not remotely interested in anything he has to say, he's in my face talking." He finishes his statement, handing her a drink as well.

Mercedes giggles again, shaking her head. "That's actually the story of my life. I could write a book about it. **Chapter 1: Rachel Berry,**" she jokes, accepting the sandwich and drink from him.

Sam only looks at her for a moment before he dissolves into laughing fits.

She's laughing too, but she reins it in. "That was mean. I know," she says, but then she's the one laughing when he adds, "**Chapter 2: Finn Hudson**."

"Chapter 3," Mercedes supplies, and they both look at each other for a moment before calling out, "Mr. Schuester," in unison and laughing again.

"That wasn't nice," Mercedes thinks aloud, belatedly, still laughing

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it," Sam says on a sigh. "I'm sure Rachel is doing just fine contorting her face as she sings somewhere in New York." Mercedes gasps at Sam's words, and he huffs out a laugh as he continues. "And Finn is off yelling at people to sit down."

Mercedes bursts out laughing at that. "Sam Evans!"

"But am I lying?" Sam asks, chuckling. "You know I'm not."

Mercedes shakes her head, but any judging credibility she has is trumped with her next question. "What about Mr. Schue? Where is he?" She already has the smile in her eyes, waiting for whatever ridiculous thing he's about to say and it strikes Sam how much he's missed just doing this with her. Hanging out. Being stupid. He'd missed it so much.

"A sweater vest emporium is my best guess," Sam tells her and chuckles when she throws her head back to laugh and her arm flails out at random to smack him. "You are such a fool," she tells him.

"Yeah, but you kinda like it," he tells her and smiles as she goes right on giggling.

It's a moment before they pull themselves together again, Mercedes leading the charge, informing him she wouldn't let him get her into trouble. "I'm a grown up, now," she says. "Even if it's God's truth."

"Except _you're_ the one that even started," Sam protests, poking at her side. "So, _I'm_ actually the only grown up in this room."

"After all that?" Mercedes asks him, putting her hand over his to stop him.

"You still started it," Sam says sticking his tongue out at her and Mercedes rolls her eyes.

"Whatever," is her answer to that and Sam bites back an amused smile. 'Whatever' was always her go to when she was backed into a corner. Like when they'd taken that road trip to Kentucky his last summer with her and she'd insisted he turn right when Sam was convinced it was left. They'd been halfway to West Virginia before they realized Sam was right. He'd been really mature about it, sticking his tongue out at her and 'Whatever' had been her response then, too. And here they were, so easily slipping back into those old patterns.

Sam sighs. Every moment he spent with her just confirmed she was still that same girl he fell for all those years ago. He wishes it was as simple as just picking up where they'd left off, but he knows it isn't. She's still with Callum—even if his heart says she should be with him. Even if everything about the way she was with him told him she knew that, too. He knows better than to get caught up.

He resolutely ignores the voice that tells him is already is.

Her voice filling the small studio where they sit pulls him back in the present. She's nervously fiddling with the controls as she plays him the first of the tracks she's been working on while here in Los Angeles. _Oh, right_, Sam thinks. The entire reason he'd come here.

Her voice is still the little piece of heaven he remembers, curling around every upbeat note of the track and making it the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. He's dancing in his seat before long, making Mercedes giggle as she watches him.

"Are you serious?" Sam asks her. He can't help but close his eyes as the song continues and she delves into a run on the track that turns his insides to putty.

"What?" she asks, shyly.

"Mercedes, this is amazing. You said you were nervous about these songs. For what? This could be on the radio right now. I'd buy it," he tells her.

She beams at him and doesn't need to ask if he means it, because his eyes are closed again as he dances in place. This continues for the next few tracks—Sam dancing in his seat and forgetting to eat his lunch as he does so. He's practically bursting with excitement by the time she's done sharing.

"So, what's the verdict? Am I good enough?" she asks him, though his indelible smile is kind of a dead give away. He gives her his signature 'girl, please' look and sends her into more giggles.

"Good is an understatement. Try somewhere around awesome. Like ridiculous awesome. Like elephants in whipped cream bikinis riding a ginormous rainbow unicorn with a discoball lightsaber for the horn on the back of a rocket ship shooting into orbit in a sea of fireworks awesome," he tells her, his eyes wide and excited like a child's. He's aware of his goofball smile and he has no hope in hell of wiping it off of his face.

Mercedes' loud laughter is immediate and Sam refrains from making the moment awkward by waxing poetic about how beautiful she is. It takes her a moment to compose herself. "Thank you?" she offers as a question. "I don't think I know what to say to that."

"You're more than good enough," Sam says seriously. "You always have been." His hand finds its way to her and he laces their fingers together, never breaking contact with her eyes.

She swallows thickly, her wide, doe-like eyes staring straight into his and Sam wonders how they always find themselves here. They are so wrapped in each other that they don't notice the door to the studio opening or Callum stopping short in the doorway.

"You always did know just what to say," she tells him quietly, with a shy smile.

"You were always worth every word," he returns, smiling, too, and the air between them seems to practically sizzle with tension.

Mercedes' smile widens in response to his words, before she ducks her blushing face away from him.

"Stop," she warns playfully, pushing at his knee and he huffs out a laugh.

"What?" he asks innocently, even though he knows exactly what. They've been playing this game on every non-date. He'll make eyes, she'll tell him to stop, then the tension will build until one of them changes the subject. He only laughs more when she directs one of her signature 'boy, please' looks at him.

"You know what," she tells him. She's going for stern, but her tone falls to amused at best—flirty if he's paying attention, and he definitely is. And he's not the only one.

She shakes her head, but she's still smiling, and not for the first time, Sam wishes things weren't just friendly. He wishes he could reach across the space between them and kiss that smile, but he knows he can't. So, he settles for a touch, lifting his hand to brush his thumb across her lip.

The air between them is crackling. Sam watches as she visibly pulls away, having to duck her head again to hide what his touch does to her, but she can't hide the way she bites her lip, or the way she raises her own fingers to the spot where his had just been. Sam knows he should see her hesitation for what it is. She isn't yet ready to deal with whatever is between them, but he can't help finding some hope there. He still has an effect on her, and even though things aren't perfect, there is a shot. His heart believes it. He just needs her to see it, too.

He's just about to say as much when the sound of a throat clearing finally draws their attention to the other person they'd yet to notice.

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**A/N: DUN DUN DUN! Oh shit! Samcedes was being all messy and Callum got an eyeful of eyefucking. What will he do? What will he say? What does this mean? OMG! Leave me reviews, k? Cause they make me happy. K bye! :)**


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